Finding What Has Been Lost

February 25, 2014:

Domino's back in the Tri-City area with a job. She doesn't waste any time getting started.

Gotham Underpass

Beneath one of Gotham City's bridges.


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: None

Fade In…

Through the thin crusting of dirty snow and ice there's a pair of tire ruts, fresh, the weight of the vehicle having crushed through the frosty shell to cut into the mud and grime lurking beneath. The marks dip down away from the road, ducking beneath one of Gotham City's bridges. There, not far away, lies the remains of an early 90's Dodge pickup. The windows are shattered. Smoke wisps up around the brakelights. Fresh bulletholes mar the dark blue paint. Steam lazily drifts up from the radiator, nearly split in two as it first rammed into a dark-clad gunman, then crashed square into a concrete support pillar for the bridge.

What's left of the man remains lodged between the pillar and the Ram, blood and broken chips of safety glass littering the mangled hood with his arms roughly stretching out toward where the driver had once been. A discarded sub-machine gun lies nearby, carelessly discarded from lifeless fingers.

More broken glass strewn out across the filthy cement now lies amongst scattered shell casings, having melted tiny auras around themselves as the heat which followed them out of the chamber erased the slush that had still stubbornly clung to the ground.

More melted patterns are found a little further along, these from freshly spilled blood, dark as used oil in the night. With the slowly spreading pools are their former hosts, bodies either gunned down by expert hands or taken down by the sharpened chunks of steel still lodged within them.

Two figures remain. One of them claws backward across the ground, limbs shaking, soaked in meltwater, gore, and grime. The darkened shadow of a matte black knife remains embedded within his right shoulder, his arm virtually useless, panic in his eyes.

The other figure is but a ghost clad in black, the suppressed .45 filling a black nailed hand clacking loudly as the slide rams a fresh hollowpoint into the warmed chamber. The ghost moves swiftly forward until a heavy, armored boot can fall down upon the man's sternum, pinning him to the cold ground then crouching to get closer to their prey.

The ghost brings both hands forward. One with the pistol, pressing down onto the knife until the wounded man lets out an acute yelp of pain.

The other's holding up a phone with a picture of another person, one that is absent from this skirmish.

"Where do I find this man?" the patch-eyed ghost of a woman demands, the sharpness of her tone cutting over the sounds of the man whimpering as the sharpness of the steel slowly bites down further into his joint.

"Where..the -Cable.-"

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